


Feeling Like Some Kind of Masochist

by Fudgyokra



Series: Kinktober 2019 [9]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, Fucking Machines, I'm here to say top Dick rights, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 16:17:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21079700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: The look on Bruce’s face when he drags the folded metal parts of the machine from its hiding spot makes Dick’s grin sparkle that much brighter.





	Feeling Like Some Kind of Masochist

**Author's Note:**

> When writer’s block hits, I just hash out more BruDick.
> 
> Title from Armchair Cynics's "Bang."
> 
> Day 18: Fucking Machine* | Latex | Role Reversal* | Xenophilia

Dick remembers the scene from the picture in his hand like it had just happened. His own smiling face looking at the camera, body in the air, balanced on one arm as he played around on the cave’s fancy training equipment. That had been fifteen years ago, and he can still recall Bruce’s words as if they had been captured right along with the shot.

_“I can see there’s a few moves you could teach _me._”_

Bruce had no idea back then how right he was. At least, not in the way that sends Dick to his room tonight, picture long since tucked back in its rightful box.

He finds his mentor at his desk, pouring over casework with a cold coffee sitting untouched a few inches from his elbow. The usual affair, considering. Dick dutifully moves the mug away, earning Bruce’s attention, and then locks it in when he slides his hands meaningfully across broad, tense shoulders.

Bruce grunts, signaling a question.

Dick’s grin is so close to Bruce’s ear he knows the man can feel it, but he chooses to indulge his inner chatterbox and puts forth, without tact or preamble, “You know what you haven’t done in a while? Let me _fuck _you.”

As expected, Bruce huffs a single breath of air through his nose in what Dick has come to learn is his most genuine kind of laugh. It’s not often he can be surprised, but he enjoys it. Dick knows as much, just like he knows the fact he hasn’t yet been denied means his chances of getting what he wants are good. Encouragingly, he pinches the muscles near Bruce’s neck, mouth still hovering by his ear as if Bruce is going to forget the suggestion.

After a moment of deliberation Dick thinks is at least partway to punish his impatience, Bruce stands, letting himself be lead to wherever in the manor Dick sees fit to place them. He releases a breath he didn’t realize had lodged in his throat, excitement showing childishly. The corner of Bruce’s mouth ticks up, and Dick’s heart hammers in his chest.

The training room in the cave houses the family’s personal lockers, a couple for each of them, from Bruce’s neatly-organized sparring accessories to Damian’s pet food and leashes. From his own secondary locker, Dick fishes out the typical supplies for when they fool around: Lubricant, ropes, and the gag—because Dick screams, and they can’t afford to let anyone hear.

Just seeing the bit of rubber makes Bruce snort another laugh, but Dick pays it no mind when he tosses all the materials to the mat and gestures toward Bruce’s backup storage. That, at least, gets an eyebrow lift.

Dick grins something wicked. They don’t typically use the tools hidden in there, mainly due to the cleanup factor, but if he was going to switch things up, he figures he may as well do it right. He doesn’t even think he’s going to use the gag.

The look on Bruce’s face when he drags the folded metal parts of the machine from its hiding spot makes Dick’s grin sparkle that much brighter. He’s trying to figure out the plan, mind whirring a mile a minute, but Dick remains steadfastly silent, bouncing around on his toes as the two of them work together to set up the chair.

It’s a sturdy thing despite its fragile look; black beams buttressing a nondescript padded seat, with straps at the bottom corners of its base meant to hold the user’s ankles. Dick has been in the damn thing too many times to count, legs forced into a spread sometimes for hours while the real bones of the machine subjected him to a viciously enjoyable kind of torture. He shudders from the memories alone, then loses himself in the fantasy of how Bruce is going to look in it. Immobile and fangless, enduring whatever Dick wants him to until he’s satisfied.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, son?” Bruce asks, finally.

Dick’s a good liar, but not with Bruce. Instead of bothering to conceal his anticipation, he trills a playful, “Nothing!”

Most likely, Bruce already has it figured out. That doesn’t dampen Dick’s spirits any while they put together the more fun half of the machine, taking off dust as they go and finding, to their immense delight, that it doesn’t need a charge. They stand together and watch the automatic wand, currently empty of the toy it’s supposed to hold, thrust back and forth, moving through three speeds.

Bruce’s eyes flicker to the remote in Dick’s hand, then up to his face. When they lock gazes, the former voices a thought. “If I were you, I’d get to it before I change my mind and put you in the chair.”

Dick laughs, loud and unabashed. “Yeah, yeah, old man.”

It takes a bit of preparation, but by the time Bruce is undressed and strapped in place, Dick can’t resist the urge to climb on top of him, grabbing his face between both hands and dragging him into a kiss he’s been waiting the past twenty minutes for.

The satisfaction buzzes through him in tandem with the nerves, the sheer thrill of being in charge, knowing he can do whatever he pleases and Bruce’ll put up with it. They’ve never come to a situation where their safe words were necessary, and this was a far cry from the craziest thing they had done, so he doesn’t worry about the fate of their night.

He’s still dressed when he hops to the locker and plucks a reasonably-sized dildo off the shelf, but he sheds his clothing in pieces across the floor on his way back to the machine, until he’s twisting the toy onto the wand and wiggling his bare ass purposefully from side to side while he makes Bruce wait.

Predictably: “Remember what I taught you about staying humble.”

Again, Dick laughs. “I don’t recall that being a lesson.”

“Obviously.”

Goosebumps prickle his skin at the tone, the growled edge to it telling him just how hard a time Bruce is having holding back. It’s heady in a way he never gets used to with how seldom he plays dom, but the same possessive edge he knows by heart still lurks beneath it, and _that _he revels in as well. So long, in fact, that Bruce has to grunt to remind him of what he’s supposed to be doing instead of getting lost in another daydream.

“Careful, B,” he teases. “You wouldn’t wanna sound eager or anything.”

Dick watches Bruce set his jaw to the side and flick his gaze to a nondescript part of the room. Embarrassing him was another rare treat, but he was mindful not to press his luck.

He refocuses his efforts on getting everything in place, beginning with attaching both halves of the machine until the soft silicone tip of the toy was properly aligned. Briefly, he considers stretching Bruce with his fingers first, then recalls the myriad of times he’s been bent over the man’s desk without preparation and smirks privately as he makes the choice not to. He works lubricant along the length of the shaft and guides it into him as-is, steady with the pressure until the head eases its way past the ring of muscle and Bruce makes a sound above him.

“You okay?” Dick asks, tone entirely too cheery. When he looks up, he can see the obvious flex of Bruce’s cock as it stirs in interest, and Dick’s grin grows larger. “Good,” he breathes, reaching for the rope next to secure Bruce’s arms behind his back. Methodical work, getting his forearms aligned, each rippling muscle contained by knots around his elbows and wrists. It would be laughably easy for Bruce to escape, but that wasn’t the point. Dick didn’t discount the possibility of him bursting free later, but for now he was good to go. “Relax,” he says, and that’s the only warning he gives before he switches the machine on.

Bruce maintains remarkably measured breathing. The only reaction he gives to the sudden movement is a small twitch of his hips, which Dick runs his hands over. After that, up his thighs, feeling him out before he stands and climbs back in the man’s lap.

The machine whirs and clicks loudly enough that Bruce’s hitched breathing isn’t audible until Dick leans in and starts kissing along his jaw. He almost laments the fact that the familiar strong grip on his hips isn’t there, but it makes the way he grinds his ass back against Bruce’s cock that much more satisfying, because when Bruce’s arms start to move, only to be held back by the ropes, he makes a downright heavenly hissing sound that only gets the heat rising to Dick’s skin even quicker than before.

“No cheating. You’re not allowed to untie yourself.” With that, he slides off the chair and strokes himself a couple times, giving himself over to the shiver that racks him as much as to the reward of Bruce’s narrow-eyed gaze trained squarely on him when it happens.

At first, he does nothing but stand there, hip cocked with his weight rested on one foot, watching Bruce fight the urge to squirm as the machine fucks him, in and out with a steady rhythm. For several minutes, Dick toys with the speed buttons, going from slow to medium to fast, each time admiring the results. When it’s slow, Bruce can breathe, and then his eyes never leave Dick’s face, showing him all the intensity burning in them. Blown pupils and a slight part to his lips. Either speed higher and he tenses all over, muscles rippling beneath scarred flesh.

At one burst of high speed, Bruce finally makes a sound beyond the odd pant or grunt, and the moan that spills gives Dick the green light to return to his lap, his own cock throbbing from neglect. It’s easy for him to get lost in the show, especially considering how pretty Bruce looks with his face flushed red, all the way across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose.

Dick smiles, maintaining eye contact as he reaches behind himself to grab at Bruce’s cock. The organ twitches in his hand, pulse erratic against the flesh of his palm. Despite his own mounting desperation, it’s hard not to play games. He meaningfully rubs along the entire length, hard and wet with pre-cum and _god, he wants to ride him._ It takes insane willpower, but he holds it steady and merely rubs himself over the head, back and forth, feeling the sparks as it catches on his rim with each pass. He doesn’t sink down on it like he wants to, and, with effort, Bruce eventually cracks.

“Come on, Dick.” Spoken like a command in the field, with something underneath that reads to someone as attuned as Dick like begging.He knows it’s the closest thing he’s going to get.

The most beautiful feeling in the world is leaning in and capturing Bruce’s mouth, nipping and licking his way to a sigh of satisfaction only to mumble against him a wicked whisper of the word _no._ Bruce grits out another sound, strained and perfect. “I told you I was gonna fuck you, didn’t I?”

Even better than the noises: “Then hurry up and do it.”

If it weren’t for natural balance and a lot of practice, Dick is sure he would have wobbled on his somewhat clumsy leap out of the chair. One button press turns the machine off, but Dick doesn’t remove the toy. Contrarily, he straddles the wand, making his intent clear with a lewd smack of his own cock down against Bruce’s thigh. “Like I told you…eager.”

Bruce smiles for half a second before it’s wiped away by the feeling of Dick prodding against his already-stuffed hole, where the toy sits halfway nestled inside him.

He makes short work of lubing himself up, because the anticipation is, frankly, starting to make him go nuts. His initial plan had been to draw out the night, mess around until neither of them could walk the next day. Well, he thinks, as he pushes his hips forward and sinks into the awaiting heat, this is as good a plan as any.

Despite the hold his teeth have on his bottom lip, a loud moan works its way out of his mouth anyway the further in he goes, until he’s all the way down to the base and gripping Bruce’s hips hard enough to leave nail marks behind.

Although Bruce has managed to school his breathing in the meantime, the second Dick flips the machine back on, Bruce’s head thumps back against the chair. Dick can feel the way his thighs quiver beneath his own.

Resting his head on Bruce’s chest is all he can do for a moment to steel himself against the wave of delirious pleasure that hits him all at once, either from Bruce’s heat or the added pressure from the dildo. Both, he decides, when he manages his first real thrust and bottoms out all over again, getting no pause from sensation with the way he’s constantly being either rubbed by the toy or gripped maddeningly tightly by Bruce’s walls fluttering around him.

He means to check if Bruce is okay, but all that comes out is an idiotic, “Are y—yuhh_hhh_—uhm, are you—” That’s as far as he gets before Bruce answers the unasked question with a particularly powerful spasm. He tries to twist in his bonds, only to return to the one position he can maintain with a groan of frustration. Dick admits to himself he’s a little proud of the fact.

“That’s it, boy,” he’s told, Bruce’s voice pitching with a familiar frenzy that makes Dick throb inside him. “Don’t quit now.”

He manages to huff out, “Didn’t plan on it,” before he inevitably chokes on another moan and has to squeeze his eyes closed to focus. His rhythm stutters a few times in his overwhelm from all the converging feelings: The way Bruce clenches down and rides both him and the machine like he’s trying to wring Dick clear out of his head, and the idea itself that he’s able to pin Bruce beneath him and do as he likes, able to watch him come apart bit by bit.

Bruce shivers, teeth gritted. The looks are interspersed with moments of wonder where he manages to hold Dick’s stare, hazy as they both were.

Subconsciously, Dick leans in, putting his full weight behind each new thrust with conviction, spearing himself inside, knowing Bruce has to take it. Has to take it _all,_ even the machine making use of him as he’s held down and fucked like he doesn’t have a choice.

Dick gasps at the first spurt of his oncoming orgasm. He has to bite back a groan. “Bruce,” he pants, almost reverently.

The air between them grows heavier at the rough groan Bruce offers in response. The rasp in his voice gives way to a stronger sound seconds later when Dick shifts. Low and guttural, paired with a demanding arch that has Dick moving on autopilot to satiate the need, even though every muscle in his body screams at him to chase his own release and let go.

“Good, _good,_” Bruce praises, knees spreading further with the slight distance he’s allowed. Dick can tell from the movement of his shoulders that he’s fighting the binds off his arms, but a strategic hand on his throat stops him in his tracks.

Dick doesn’t press down, but the suggestion is enough to keep Bruce still, forced to simply accept the onslaught until he stiffens all over, head tipping to the side when he cums. He doesn’t have to be touched once, and it’s a sight to behold, getting him off on the penetration alone.

Blessedly, Dick gets to shove in deep, grinding against Bruce’s ass while he spills inside with a strangled moan of relief. He’s still holding onto the man’s body for dear life when the overstimulation of the still-moving toy gets to him, prompting him to pull out before he’s rubbed raw.

Still, the way Bruce looks sated and messy, dripping Dick’s cum with the toy still religiously pumping what’s left in and out…he considers another round before his cock immediately flexes painfully, and he has to remind himself to at least take a breather before they chance it.

They take a moment to catch their collective breath. Once they do, Dick returns once more to Bruce’s lap and presses a kiss to his lips. “Think you can go again?” he teases, light glinting in his eyes.

A shiver runs along his spine when Bruce’s arms wrap around his waist and hold him still, a testament to how quickly he was able to get himself free. In what was either a warning or a promise, he rocks his hips upward and pulls Dick down in tandem, the shifting against sensitive spots earning the keen Bruce must have been waiting for.

“Yeah,” he said, smugly, “I can go again.” Dick lets his eyes flutter closed when Bruce nips at his collarbone, but can’t help the dizzy grin when he adds, “But this time it’s my turn.”


End file.
